


Buwan

by Zyxia_Yrah



Category: Original Work
Genre: Folklore, Gen, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyxia_Yrah/pseuds/Zyxia_Yrah
Summary: White and bewitching, the full moon shined clearly on the water. The surrounding land seemed to fall silent, letting the mother and the moon talk intimately.





	Buwan

In a small house by the mountains, just behind the forest, there lived a loving mother and her docile little son. Their house was just a humble tiny cottage. But it was a home nonetheless: peaceful, harmonious, and joyful.

They lived a simple life. Their mornings were filled with birds cheerfully chirping as they soak in the sun. The son woke up to the cries of the chickens and the smell of his mother's cooking. When he got up, his mother will turn to him. Without fail, she will give him a sweet smile and a soft greeting. They spent the day playing with the cattle, tending the garden together, and exploring every corner of the forest. At night, they sat together in bed while the mother will tell her son stories of the old and the supernatural. The unearthly beauty of the diwata, the smoking giant kapre, the small and mischievous duwende, and the evil child-eating aswang: creatures of the night, creeping in their unconscious moments. The son will shiver from the stories -

_"Rock-a-bye, baby, on the treetop, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock"_

\- but his mother will sing to him, and he will feel safe.

One night, while coming back from the town, the mother stepped carefully on the slippery stones by the lake half a mile from their home. She paused when she caught sight of the full moon's image on the surface. She stared at it, entranced and captivated by its beauty. White and bewitching, the full moon shined clearly on the water. The surrounding land seemed to fall silent, letting the mother and the moon talk intimately. She came back a bit later, the moon's reflection engraved in her mind, with her eyes hazy and absent.

The next day, the little boy got scolded for the first time. All day, he hid in a corner of his room, covering his shaking, cold body.

Every full moon, the mother came back home late, dazed and enthralled yet hyperconscious of her son. She was aware of everything, but her spirit was far away from the ground. The next day, the mother lashed at the little boy. Accusing the son of the things he didn't do and berating him for being a bad child. Every time, he cried. Every time, he wailed. Every time, he was afraid.

One dawn, the son went outside, sad that his mother threw her rage at him again. It seemed like the mother that loved him gently before was gone, replaced by a monster that peeks at him every night by the window, waiting for a chance to snatch him away. It was frightening. Careful of his sleeping mother, he walked away from the cottage until he ended up near the lake.

The full moon was still up. The image still reflected, stunning on the water. The little boy sat by the waterside. He stayed still, observing the full moon he knew everybody loved. It was silent and comfortable, comforting his wounded heart, with only the wind blowing through the trees serenading him and the sporadic footsteps of the animals accompanying him before the day arrived.

Suddenly, he heard a soft whisper, _"Come."_

The boy, thinking it was his mind playing tricks, ignored the voice.

It repeats itself, _"Come, my boy."_

Alert, the boy looked behind him. His hands were behind him, ready to stand up and run. He scanned the area, from the water to the sky, and to the land behind him. The entire space was now loud, the wind blowing like a storm was coming, the animals in the trees running around relentlessly.

_"Come."_ The voice was unrelenting yet soothing.

The boy's breath was shallow and fast, his hands shaking. His fingers shook as he took in every movement. 

_"_ _My boy."_

The whisper stopped. The winds and the trees fell mute. Not a single sound was heard, not even a minuscule of vibration. The little boy sat frozen.

_"Come here, little boy,"_ the whisper came back again, a little louder, but even more calming this time. Not unlike his mother singing lullabies to him.

A moment of silence.

Then - 

_"Rock-a-bye, baby, on the tree top."_ The child perked up, hearing the voice of his mother. _"When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,"_ she sang.

The little boy stood up, longing to hold his mother's hand.

_"Come, my little boy,"_ his mother called to him, sad and lonely. The child moved forward, towards the lake where the voice echoed. 

_"Come here.'_

He took a step. 

_"When the bough breaks,"_

He took another step.

_"The cradle will fall,"_

And one more.

_"And into my arms the baby and all."_

Just a little more.

_"Rock-a-bye, baby, on the tree top."_

The little boy's body became wet.

_"Welcome home."_

And the boy was wrapped in the cold embrace of his mother, drowning him with all her love until he suffocated in her body.


End file.
